


Aziraphale Falls into Crowley's Arms

by Annabell_Archer



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Falls, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-09-06 22:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20299147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabell_Archer/pseuds/Annabell_Archer
Summary: After the events of the Notpocalypse, or Armagedidn't there's only one thing that Heaven can do when hellfire doesn't take care of their rogue angel.





	1. The Descent

On the first day without Aziraphale Crowley slept for a solid twenty-four hours. He loved sleep and recently he’d used Aziraphale as an alarm clock. The angel would call every day to gush about a rare book or chat about good local food. Sometimes Crowley zoned out, just getting lost in Aziraphale’s voice for a while. He didn’t feel too guilty about that considering in person he was constantly getting lost in his smile. It was convenient that as time went on and as Crowley fell harder and harder that better sunglasses came along too. Well, it wasn’t as if Crowley never called Aziraphale, so he phoned the bookshop. He heard it ring until the generic voicemail message came on. He knew Aziraphale didn’t know how to check his messages, so he just hung up. Aziraphale was probably jut out doing something angelic.  
When Crowley woke up on the second day he began to get restless. He slithered around his flat as a snake for a while, trying to find somewhere comfortable to curl up. After a few frustrating hours he had the realization that he only wanted from Aziraphale a hug or something. He hissed as he reached the realization that he’d gotten so used to the angel’s presence that it only took one day apart (most of which he was asleep for) before he began to feel touch-starved. Again he called Aziraphale’s shop only to have it go to voicemail again.  
On the third day Crowley decided cabin fever might be a better diagnosis and took a walk. He stopped by all of Aziraphale’s favorite restaurants, figuring he would finally try some of the sweets the angel was so fond of. At every restaurant he took a bite, then left. He wasn’t interested in eating Aziraphale’s favorite foods, not without Aziraphale. The angel would love to see his reactions, then he would get all cheerful and maybe clap a little… again there was no answer at the bookshop.  
On the fourth day there was no way for Crowley to pretend he didn’t miss Aziraphale anymore. He missed the angel terribly, and the demon tried to force himself to get used to being alone for long periods of time again. He’d been spending less and less time alone as the centuries went on. More specifically, he’d been spending less and less time away from Aziraphale. That had all come to a head after the not-pocalypse when Crowley and Aziraphale entered an awkward conversation (for Crowley at least, it seemed virtually impossible for the angel to pick up on something being awkward) that ended with the two of them walking around the park, holding hands. When humans, like Anathema and Newt, or the Them, asked about it, they said that they were ‘dating’, but they all knew that the relationship between the two went far beyond ‘dating’. It went far beyond ‘soul mates’. It went far beyond all words in any and every language that had ever existed in Heaven, Hell, or Earth.  
He blessed under his breath and refused to call Aziraphale again. He was a demon. Demons didn’t go around trying to find someone like an abandoned puppy. When Aziraphale was ready he could call Crowley.  
On the fifth day Crowley blacked out and when he woke up he had a bunch of new books ready to be gifted to the angel. No answer at the bookshop.  
On the sixth day Crowley went to feed the ducks at the park. Bread wasn’t actually good from them, but Aziraphale always used a miracle to change that. In lieu of the angel Crowley decided he would do that himself. He felt disgusting as Aziraphale’s voice popped into his head calling him nice, so he took a walk around the park instead. There were a lot of happy couples walking around on that day. Crowley gave them all the Clap.  
By the seventh Crowley was shouting so much at his plants that one shook hard enough to fall off the table. Or perhaps it jumped. Either way Crowley hissed as he heard the pot shatter and grabbed the plant by the stalk, swinging it in front of others to make an example out of it. When he came back inside Crowley snapped his fingers and reached out to take the repaired pot as it floated into his hands. Then he gave in and drove himself over to A. Z. Fell & Co. bookshop. He would always regret that he hadn’t given in sooner. 

So now the demon’s nose twitched as he stood in the center of the empty shop, eyebrows furrowed. It didn’t look like anything had been taken, though he hadn’t memorized every detail of the hoard of book yet, but from the smell Aziraphale hadn’t been there in a while. He slunk down into the form of a snake and slithered all over the shop and even into the flat on the second floor, His forked tongue flicked as he went. Books… books… books… biscuit tin… books… tea set… nothing.  
Crowley gave a hiss of frustration before realizing that while focusing on Aziraphale’s scent he’d missed that there were a lot of smells that didn’t belong in A. Z. Fell’s bookshop. One was the smell of Heaven; detergent and the color white. How heaven had managed to turn a color into a smell was one of the universe’s biggest mysteries. An angel fresh from heaven had been here, then. He didn’t know them well enough to be able to pick out which one from the scent, he’d rejected all of that ten thousand years ago, the moment he’d be cast out. Or cast down, rather.  
Another scent, however, was quite familiar to Crowley. It was the smell of Hell, sulfur and brimstone. What’s more, Crowley instantly recognized the smell and which demon it came from. And he shifted back into human form with a snarl. It was obvious in hindsight, there were also about fifty of their flies buzzing around. But why had Beelzebub stopped by the bookshop?  


.o.O.o.  


Crowley was off to Hell faster than a used car salesman committing adultery. Hell seemed the same as usual: damned souls being tortured and demons betting how long it would be before some new arrivals started crying, but if he focused Crowley swore he could smell his angel. He followed the smell through Hell for a while until he came upon a large crowd of demons. This happened occasionally, when someone especially bad came down from Earth. Like a serial killer or people who ask to speak to the manager. Crowley ducked and weaved through the crowd, and seemed to be nearing the center when he heard a familiar voice.  
“Well, well, well. Crawley.” The voice caused Crowley to hiss automatically as he turned.  
“Hastur. Hoping to get me this time?”  
“No, Hell doesn’t really care anymore. Not now that we have that angel.”  
Crowley felt his heart stop (which was actually fine, he only kept his heart beating for fun). “What do you mean?”  
“Haven’t heard? Guess that little stunt you two pulled made heaven decide to send him on down.” He whistled the same noise that a missile makes as it falls from the sky.  
Crowley lunged, taking Hastur by the throat and pushing him to the ground. Several other demons complained as they were knocked out of the way, but a little Hell fight was also good entertainment. “Where the Heaven is he?”  
“He’s a tough nut to crack, that one,” Hastur said without concern. “We’ve all been taking turns with him. The betting pool’s highest in history. You were headed his direction. Do you want a turn? I’ve gotten a solid ten minutes in over the last week, he’s in very high demand.”  
Crowley didn’t do more than a single punch. He didn’t have time for more as his wings burst from his back and he took off over the crowd flying to the center of the mass of demons. There he saw something he had dreaded.  
Aziraphale was strung up, unconscious. It looked like Hell had taken a page from Earth’s book as he was hung from a rotting tree, swaying slightly. A few demons tried to get in Crowley’s way. Some tried to grab his ankle and pull him down, a few popped up in the air with him to try to get in his way, but none of them made contact, he slithered away from them with ease. As he soared into the arena he was surrounded by the sound of booing as they were shouting at him to wait his turn.  
“Angel,” he murmured, when he got there. He moved to cut Aziraphale down, but paused only for a moment when he was struck with the horrible realization that Aziraphale wasn’t hanging from a dead tree, what looked like branches from a distance were actually the charred remains of what had once been a beautiful set of pure white wings.


	2. Like a Snake out of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has seen the most horrible site he could dare to imagine, and all he knows is he's got to get the unconscious Aziraphale out of there, and fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your nice comments! It's so encouraging to know that I'm not the only one enjoying this story. I want to warn that this chapter contains what could be considered gore. It's not the focus of the story and it never will be.

Crowley barely heard the booing coming from the crowd as he launched himself towards Aziraphale. He wrapped his arm around the other’s waist and lifted to take pressure off of the remains of his wings before slicing the bonds that held him up. Aziraphale immediately slumped into him and Crowley had to hurry to make sure he was caught. While hovering this close Crowley had a clear view of the charred bones that were sprouted from Aziraphale’s back, bits of muscle and nerve still visible clinging to them. If Aziraphale was capable of bleeding they would have a stream of blood flowing. As they were they twitched, instinctively trying to help Aziraphale take flight.  
“Angel… angel!” Crowley cried as he cradled Aziraphale in his arms. Aziraphale whimpered a little as his left wing was pressed against Crowley’s chest. “You’ll be okay, you’ll be fine,” he barely heard himself as he spoke, lost in the feeling of his love in his arms until he was yanked back to reality by the feeling of something hitting him in the back directly between his wings, knocking him off balance for a moment, he had to flutter to stay up, instinctively holding Aziraphale tighter until he whimpered again. But Crowley couldn’t let go as he noticed hundreds of demons that had been spectating beginning to boo as they realized Crowley hadn’t gone up there to join in the fun.  
“Heaven gave him to us!” Hastur shouted. “We can do what we want!” A few more rocks whizzed by Crowley’s head and he could see a few wings raising as demons prepared to take flight.  
Crowley didn’t let the get as far as going into the air before he was gone, zipping away from there so fast his sunglasses fell off, revealing to everyone watching the absolute panic that was overtaking his expression. He glanced behind himself as he went and saw most of the demons losing interest and leaving, but a small, ferocious pack led by Hastur was ready to chase him down.  
Crowley wasn’t a particularly fast flyer, and with the weight of an unconscious figure in his arms even the fight or flight survival instinct wasn’t enough to give him an edge. He did have one advantage, though, that no demon in hell could boast - Crowley had spent a lot of time around humans. He’d seen the entire evolution of humanity and had been watching races since the colosseum. And recently he’d been watching action movies. At the first chance he had Crowley turned down an alleyway, approaching it full speed, then tucking his wings in so that he fit, going forward like a bullet. He heard a thud as the demons in pursuit were taken by surprise.  
Crowley stuck out one wing at a time to turn random corners, and though they hit walls and he could feel himself scrape a few feathers off each time he kept going. He could tell the mob going after him had split up because every once in a while he came across one of them. When it was one-on-one (or two vs. once if you count Aziraphale, which given the circumstances you shouldn’t) he could swing out in a wide loop and kick them as hard as they could. A few times they dodged, but more often he surprised them enough to make solid contact with a wing, and even once Hastur’s head.  
He couldn’t dawdle, though. He only had until they realized he was going back to Earth and went ahead to stop him there, and within a few minutes he reached the passageway between Hell and Earth and zoomed up into the bookshop. He could feel himself about to hit the floor so he wrapped his wings around himself to protect Aziraphale as they bounced for a little while, knocking over a few bookshelves. Eventually they rolled to a stop and it was just Crowley and Aziraphale in a cave made of jet black wings. Panting, he placed one hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, and he kept his eyes trained on his love’s face, unable to look at the charred remains of his wings.  
His wings were up creating a cave there on the floor with only the two of them, no Heaven, no Hell, no company. Just the two of them. “Angel… Aziraphale…” Crowley hated the way his voice cracked. He hated the tears that ran down his nose and dripped onto his unconscious love’s face. He screwed his eyes shut and pulled the other into his chest as sobs wracked his breaths. After a few moments he felt stirring, then his clothes being ruffled as Aziraphale grabbed it in handfuls. He couldn’t tell who was shivering then, it may have been both as Aziraphale hummed small noises of protest.  
“Don’t cry,” Aziraphale murured. “There’s no need to cry.”  
Crowley let out a breathless sort of laugh. It was a relief to hear Aziraphale say something that only Aziraphale would say. “I’m sorry. Ange- Aziraphale. I’m so, so sorry.”  
“You haven’t done anything.”  
“That’s why I’m sorry.”  
A moment later there was some sort of moisture on Crowley’s chest and he knew what it meant. His entire body tensed as he instinctively wanted to fight whoever made Aziraphale cry, but he knew there was no one person he could hold responsible. He wanted to tell Aziraphale not to cry, but he couldn’t. Not when he remembered the excruciating pain when he’d fallen. Even after several thousand years he could still clearly feel all of his feathers burning off, burning through the skin and muscle until he thought there would be nothing left. And now Aziraphale - the wonderful angel Aziraphale - would also never be able to forget it.  
No one will ever be sure exactly how long they sat there, but they only sat in a grief-stricken silence until Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hands loosen and knew the other had lost consciousness again. Crowley was usually the only one to sleep, but with all the regeneration Aziraphale’s body had to do he would be unconscious for a long time, and still tired when he awoke. Crowley slowly pushed himself to his feet, Aziraphale cradled in his arms when, like a bride over the threshold of their new house, Crowley carried him up to the flat. He created up there the most comfortable bed possible, covered with pillows and one of those fancy mattresses that adjusted to how you moved.  
He settled Aziraphale on his stomach before gently adjusting the remains of his wings so that they were splayed across pillows. Aziraphale whimpered softly as Crowley moved them, and they twitched in his light grip, but he set everything up comfortable enough for a long, rejuvenating nap. For a moment Crowley sat on the bed next to Aziraphale’s head, in the space above his shoulders and ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s fluffy hair. Then he left his love to rest.

.o.O.o.

That night, for the first time in ten thousand years, Crowley prayed. But his prayers were not of the same nature as most prayers, and contained many uncouth words which will be here changed. “Hey, Almighty, you fridge-licking salamander. You and your bottom-feeding heckers you call angels need to go put a key in your porridge, because you’ve made a big festering mistake. You thieves of happiness should’ve kept your fresh daisies off of my cotton candy Aziraphale because now you’ve made me tickle your butterfingers, and I dare you to try to stop me. You may as well rename Heaven ‘Swimming Pool’ because without that perfect angel it’s nothing but a swarm of nose-tickling, cup-listening, cat-cuddling milk jugs. You’ve made a mistake and you can never take it back. Maybe you’re the one who should fall, go fall into a garden of yarn and when you do, along with all of your minions, I’ll be laughing and you all can kiss my ant farm. And if I see any one of your cankerblossoms on Earth trying to get to him they’ll wish they’d fallen instead of him because Hell would be far more merciful than me.” Or, to translate into clearer language, Crowley said, “you’ve made a mistake, Aziraphale doesn’t deserve this.”  
Once he finished, breathless, disheveled, and worse for wear, Crowley only stood there in the center of the shop. Then he did the only thing he could to help Aziraphale; he began to pick up the fallen books. 


	3. Waiting for a Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's set Aziraphale to rest and heal, now it's just a matter of time.

To say Crowley was tense over the next few days would be like saying England was just a hop and a skip away from Jupiter. He was ready for all the forces of Heaven and Hell to burst into the shop at any moment and try to drag Aziraphale back down. He spent all of his time feeling like a snake getting ready to strike no matter his physical form, and he checked on Aziraphale upstairs at least once every quarter hour. Other than that he spent most of his time pacing (or sometimes slithering in a large circle as a snake where he gained a nervous tick in swallowing his own tail) or putting books on shelves. He didn’t know Aziraphale’s system or organization, if he even had one, so he just slid them into the shelves. This reduced the number of piles on the floor, and therefore gave him more surface area to pace.   
The first two days were agonizingly slow. It wasn’t until Aziraphale’s third full day of unconsciousness that anything happened. That ‘anything’ was the door bumping, the knob turning as someone tried to let themselves inside. Crowley immediately hissed and ran to press himself against the wall. He could hear faint voices outside.   
“-has always had weird hours. Mr. Fell’s kind of an oddball.”   
“Let’s just check online.”   
Crowley raised himself up enough to peek through the window, where he saw two perfectly normal humans walking away and he felt foolish. As if the door being locked would stop occult forces for even a moment. He shrank back down into the form of a person, lying with his back on the floor, his hands pressed over his eyes. Somehow the fact that they were human left him feeling even worse. 

Six days and nine hours after Crowley had settled Aziraphale in bed there was a sound from upstairs. Crowley tripped over himself and his damn legs he wasn’t terribly good with as he ran upstairs, ready to see his angel finally out of bed. When he reached the room the first thing he noticed was what now resembled long, pink worms as Aziraphale’s wings had been slowly healing and regrowing. The second thing he noticed was that his angel was shifting and whimpering slightly as one of his wings were held aloft by the archangel fucking Gabriel.   
“Gabriel,” Crowley said with a literal hiss.   
The archangel turned to look at Crowley, raising his eyebrows. “Ah, right, the… demon. Aziraphale’s toy. Crawley, was it?”   
“Get off of him.”   
“Hey now, no need for that sort of attitude. You’ll want to hold back from disrespecting me.” He dropped the wing he was holding unceremoniously and Crowley winced as it made contact with the pillows.   
“You can’t have him. I won’t let you,” Crowley spoke his wings slipping out, poised and ready to fly with all of the feathers bristling.   
“Oh, I don’t want him,” Gabriel said with a shrug.  
“Bullshit.”   
“The demon previously known as Aziraphale isn’t my problem anymore. I did my part, I set his wings on fire and delivered him back here for Hell to take. Losing him is their problem.”   
It was Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel’s fault. He was openly admitting it. He didn’t bat an eye. Once Crowley recovered from the shock he lunged, ready to do absolutely anything he could that would hurt the archangel. Gabriel, however, grabbed onto Crowley’s arms and pushed him onto the ground without too much effort.   
“They why are you here?” He hissed, struggling.   
“Curiosity, fiend. I wanted to see if Aziraphale was stupid enough to stay in one spot.”   
“He’s not stupid, you bastard.”   
“He’s still here.”   
“He’s unconscious!” Crowley spat then immediately regretted as Gabriel went quiet for a few moments.   
“Wow. They really did a number on him, huh,” the archangel said with admiration in his voice. “That makes sense though, I knew that your kind would hate him. He should fit right in.” Gabriel yanked Crowley to his feet and the next thing Crowley knew he had slammed into the wall, still struggling to attack Gabriel in some way.   
“So, in that case you’ve got a weak ex-angel, the stupid toy that made him fall, and Hell full of fiends too dumb to check the obvious place.” He shook his head. “I always knew Aziraphale was full of shit. ‘Wily’ indeed, I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be as idiotic as you. Well, except Aziraphale.” Gabriel was very clearly trying to infuriate Crowley and the demon played along, giving a long hiss, but with a cocky laugh the angel disappeared.   
Crowley sank to the floor, his whole body shaking. Gabriel could appear upstairs at any moment. He could tell Hell where they were at any moment. But more than that all Crowley could think about was that Gabriel had just confirmed what Crowley had already known. Aziraphale was fallen now, and not welcome in Heaven or Hell. He didn’t move for several hours, just staring at the unconscious figure in the bed. 

Two weeks, one day, and three hours after Crowley set Aziraphale up in bed for the first time there was rustling from upstairs. He was up in a moment and burst into the room to see the empty bed, but before he could even think to panic he caught sight of what looked like a large worm. Wings that were healing. He followed the length up to Aziraphale, standing in front of a full body mirror and staring at his reflection with grief-stricken eyes. The wings tried weakly to flap but Aziraphale still winced with pain.   
The relief at seeing Aziraphale awake was almost enough to send Crowley into tears again. “Angel,” he said in a strained voice.   
Aziraphale shook his head, not looking away from the mirror for a moment. “You can’t call me that anymore.”


	4. Under the Wings of an Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's awake and has to face the painful truth.

During the time that Aziraphale had been unconscious Crowley hadn’t dared to touch him. He was afraid that everything he could do would send shooting pain through his unconscious body, which was a reasonable fear since even moving the pillows under Aziraphale’s wings caused him to whimper with pain. There were also scars criss crossing and doppling his torso, and he couldn’t even bring himself to touch the fluffy blond hair. There didn’t appear to be any injuries there, and despite the fact Crowley didn’t think that it would hurt he couldn’t work up the nerve.   
Now, Aziraphale was standing in front of him, and Crowley dared to take one of the fleshy beginnings of a wing in his cool hands, just enough to feel the heartbeat running through Aziraphale’s body as his vessel desperately tried to put everything back into place. Crowley knew these wings. In all their eons on Earth together they hadn’t shown their wings very often. Large feathery wings weren’t something shared by humans and were bad for blending in. Still, Crowley knew these wings by heart. These were the wings he had fallen in love with. 

It had started with the order ‘go up there and make trouble.’ Most demons didn’t really want to get involved in the Almighty’s new creations so Crowley was fine to follow the order. From the moment he’d woken as a demon he’d cursed Heaven and everything involved with it, most of all angels. Pretentious, self-righteous drones who got off following orders from someone who they never even spoke to directly. Still, he hadn’t exactly made friends with other demons. They weren’t all inherently bad, but by Satan they were all infuriating. They had their own goals with their existence based on ruining other people, and Crowley didn’t understand why no one in existence would just try doing things they enjoyed.   
When Crowley had slithered up to the surface the first thing he caught sight of some angel. With the blond hair and blue eyes and the cherub-ness and even a flaming sword, but Crowley wasn’t interested. Soon he caught sight of the far more interesting humans Adam and Eve who just seemed to do whatever they wanted. It was fun to watch, really. For humans, everything was so simple, yet at the same time they weren’t dumb. They had the capacity to think just as well as any demon or angel but they lived for themselves. Not to follow someone, not to rebel against someone, just to exist. The tree of forbidden fruit had also caught his attention fairly early. Adam and Eve didn’t go near despite the good looking fruit so he’d invited Eve over.   
When he’d tempted Eve towards the tree he hadn’t expected the consequences that came up. Banishment from paradise? For eating a fruit? Why put the fruit out at all? It was yet another example of the Almighty messing around with the universe as if they were all just toys. He watched them get sent and had felt a little guilt. This was like the Earth version of falling, it seemed. He invited himself up onto the wall, watching them walk into the desert.   
“Well that went down like a lead balloon.”   
Then he entered conversation with Aziraphale. Introduced himself and everything. The angel didn’t even try to smite him or send him back to Hell with his fancy sword…  
“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”   
He had given it away. Looking over the desert he could see Adam awkwardly swinging the flaming sword towards what he’d heard was called a lion. The angel, follower of the Almighty and quite unsure of what he’d done. This wasn’t an order, but a decision. A decision to help people who were being punished by the Almighty. A stupid, wonderful decision. In that moment Crowley considered Aziraphale a colleague, maybe even a friend. At least, the closest he had to a friend.   
“You’re an angel, I don’t think you can do bad.”   
Crowley meant what he said, but for the first time he didn’t feel any hatred or resentment when he did, and Aziraphale had looked so relieved that he thought so. Then the sky roared. He would later identify this as thunder, and the water that fell from the sky as rain. Both he and Aziraphale were rather put off by the sensation of suddenly getting wet, but for Crowley it didn’t last long. Aziraphale had raised a wing to shelter him, seemingly without thinking.   
Crowley was in shock and he hesitantly took a step towards the angel to get more cover. If Aziraphale noticed - which he must have at some point - he didn’t mind or take it back. That was the moment Crowley fell hopelessly in love; the moment a wing shielded him from the first drops of rain. 

Crowley ran his fingers over the hot flesh. Despite everything the wing seemed to give off that same warm radiance that it always had. He didn’t have to think very much as he pulled the wing up to press a gentle kiss against it. As he looked up he made eye contact with Aziraphale in the mirror and the blue eyes looked away immediately. Crowley thought that maybe he’d gone too far and gently lowered the wing into a relaxed position. Aziraphale murmured something.   
“What was that?” Crowley asked.   
“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, screwing his eyes shut and in the mirror Crowley could see tears beginning to form.   
“No no no,” Crowley said, “heaven no, Aziraphale.” He stepped around the wings carefully to stand between Aziraphale and the mirror and he pushed his sunglasses up before cupping both of Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Don’t you dare,” he said, feeling his voice catch in his throat. “Don’t you dare apologize for getting hurt. You don’t have anything to be sorry for, just focus on healing.”  
After a few moments tears rolled down Aziraphale’s cheeks and he looked up to meet the yellow serpent eyes in front of him. “Then you can’t. Don’t start apologizing.”   
“But I have something to be sorry for,” Crowley protested. “I should’ve-”  
“No,” Aziraphale said with gentle firmness. He pressed one hand on top of Crowley’s to lean his cheek into it. “You saved me, Crowley. You always save me. You’ve done so much for me… I can’t stand the thought of you being sorry when you’re not to blame.”   
There wasn’t much Crowley could say in response to that. He internally wrapped up his guilt and set it aside. It would probably fade with time, and even if it didn’t he was determined not to do anything that may distress his love. He pulled Aziraphale closer and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I promise,” he vowed softly.   
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. He closed his eyes and leaned into Crowley’s chest. Crowley, still afraid of hurting him, hesitated before wrapping his arms around Aziraphale ever so gently. It felt so good to have the man he loved in his arms. 

Aziraphale was settled on a sofa in the bookshop while Crowley bustled around trying to figure how to make cocoa. It took him longer than it should have, but Aziraphale didn’t seem impatient. Eventually he had the hot water and the powder and he grabbed the mug he always saw his boyfriend using. Then he was pulled short by the wings decorating it and he had a visceral reaction that almost made him throw up. He used a miracle to sent the mug back to Crowley’s flat, on the arm of his throne, before creating a new mug, plain and soft gray in color.   
When Crowley brought the mug out to the sofa Aziraphale had managed to fold in his wings and hide them from sight, which seemed to be good for the two ethereal beings. Crowley set the mug down and sat next to Aziraphale, who was thumbing through one of his old favorites with distant eyes. There wasn’t much to say, so Crowley melted down into a snake and wrapped himself around Aziraphale to enjoy the ability to feel so much at once. In the end he rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The blond seemed to let out a sigh of relief and even managed something that was almost a smile. He took a sip of the cocoa and tried to begin Alice in Wonderland from the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the best writing I've ever done, and I'm sorry for giving you guys something I consider low-quality for me, but I'm currently a senior at University and my thesis is doing some writing, so this is a story I have planned in my head that I'm getting down on paper to destress.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posting on AO3, I've used fanfiction.net before, so please forgive me if I haven't gotten the hang of this website's format.


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